“Oh yeah?” Dori looked back at Luke, drank, then swiveled back to Roxanne. “Are you saying you don’t want him?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean . . .” She wasn’t used to being flustered. “What I mean is things aren’t that way with us.”
“Because you don’t want them to be?”
“Because . . . because they aren’t.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t like to poke my nose in.”
Roxanne had to laugh. “Oh, I could see that right off.”
“Anyway.” Dori grinned engagingly. “If I were to poke it in, I’d offer this simple, time-honored advice. Intrigue, confuse, seduce. And if that doesn’t work, jump his bones. Got to go.”
“Yeah. See you.” Roxanne stared into her wine, drawing lines down the outside of the glass with her fingers. Her thoughts were such that she jolted when Luke and Lily sat down again.
“Oh, that was fun.” Nearly out of breath, Lily reached for her drink.
“Finish that off, and we’ll do it again.”
“Not on your life.” She waved a hand. “Go do it with Roxy.”
Roxanne choked again and blushed scarlet.
“Take it easy.” Luke thumped her on the back. “Want to dance, Rox?”
“No. Ah, maybe later.” Her whole body was tingling. Her heart picked up the rhythm of the bass and thudded against her ribs. Sexual friction? Was that what this was? If so, it was deadly. She sipped again, more cautiously. Intrigue. All right, she’d give it a shot. “I liked watching the two of you out there.” She touched a hand lightly to the back of Luke’s. “You’ve got some good moves, Callahan.”
He stared at her. What was that gleam in her eye? In another woman, he would have taken it as an invitation. In Roxanne, he wondered where she’d bite or scratch first. “Thanks.” He picked up his beer and casually checked his watch.
“Got a late date?” Roxanne purred.
“What? No.”
Now, wasn’t this interesting? Lily mused. A little cat and mouse, with Roxanne in the role of cat. “You two should take a nice stroll out on deck. It’s gorgeous tonight.”
“Good idea. Why don’t we all do that?” Luke grabbed Lily’s hand and watched Roxanne warily. He had ten more minutes to detain Lily, then he thought it might be wise to run for his life.
“No, no, I’m a little tired.” Lily feigned a huge yawn. “I’ll just go down and turn in.”
“You haven’t finished your drink.” Luke sat again, kept his hand firmly on Lily’s. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .” What? What? “Ah, if you think it’s going to rain tomorrow in Sydney?”
“Australia?” Lily said, big-eyed.
“No, Nova Scotia. We’re docking there in the morning. I’ve, ah, got a couple hours off, and thought I’d go into town and look around.”
Why, he’s nervous, Roxanne realized, and found it oddly endearing. And exciting. “So do I,” she murmured. “Want company?”
“Well . . .”
“I really am tired.” Lily yawned again and shook her hand free of Luke’s. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Shit, Luke thought. He had to hope it was close enough. “I’m a little tired myself.” Luke stood as Lily walked off. And made a small, gagging sound when Roxanne rose as well, her body bumping against his.
“A walk on deck would help you sleep better.” She tilted her head back so that they were eye to eye and nearly mouth to mouth. He could feel his lips tingle.
“Nope.” He thought of all the things he’d like to do with her, to her, in the salt-sprayed moonlight. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t. You should turn in, too.”
“I don’t think so.” She trailed a finger down his arm. “I imagine there’s someone around who’d like to dance, or walk.” She brushed her lips lightly over his. “Good night, Callahan.”
“Yeah.” He watched her stroll away, then lean over a table where a few of the entertainers were having drinks. He doubted he’d sleep a wink.
Lily unlocked the door of her cabin, smiling at the image of Roxanne and Luke walking hand in hand in the moonlight. She’d waited a long time to see her two children find each other. Maybe tonight, she thought, and opened the door to music, candlelight and roses.
“Oh.” She stood there, silhouetted by the backlight from the passageway. Max stepped away from the table where a bottle of champagne was open and waiting. He crossed to her, offering a single pink rose.
He said nothing, only took her hand and brought it to his lips as he eased the door shut behind her. Locked it.
“Oh, Max.”
“I hope it’s not too late for a small bon voyage celebration.”
“No.” She pressed her lips together to hold back tears. “It’s not too late. It’s never too late.”
Cupping her face in his hand, he tilted her head back. “My heart,” he murmured. His lips were soft and strong against hers. Then the kiss deepened, lengthened as their tongues met in a slow, familiar dance.
When he drew her back, the old twinkle she adored was in his eyes. “Perhaps I could ask one small favor.”
“You know you can.”
“That crimson negligee you packed? Would you put it on while I pour the wine?”
18
He’d finally figured it out. It took Luke a couple of days, and an equal amount of uncomfortably restless nights, but he finally got a handle on it.
She was trying to drive him crazy.
It was the only reasonable explanation for Roxanne’s behavior. It wasn’t that she smiled at him so often. It was the way she smiled. With that oddly female light in her eyes that was invitation, challenge and amusement melded together. He couldn’t even blame the fact that she’d cornered him into one of the ballroom dancing demonstrations—under the guise of staff participation—so that he’d had to hold her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair while her hips twitched in a rumba under his hand.
It wasn’t possible to point to the fact that she’d run into him that afternoon in Quebec City after completing her role as interpreter on one of the shore excursions—or that she’d made him enjoy being hauled from shop to shop buying gifts and souvenirs, eating ice cream and weaving through crowds of tourists on the long narrow streets to listen to a musician play the concertina.
To be fair, he couldn’t blame the fact that she made certain a day didn’t pass without giving him one of those light, butterfly kisses that stirred the juices the way a crust of bread would heighten the hunger of a starving man.
No, he couldn’t blame any one of those things—until he put them all together with the less tangible but equally effective vibrations she seemed to emit whenever he was within five feet of her.
He grumbled to himself all the way up the outside stairway from the Lido Deck to Promenade, from Promenade to Royal. He wasn’t some freaking messenger boy, and he’d nearly told Jack as much. But it would have been hard to explain why he objected so strenuously to asking Roxanne if she’d help greet passengers in the reception line for the captain’s farewell party.
They were still docked in Quebec City. From the high rail he could see the pretty hills, the steep streets, the elegance of the towering Chateau Frontenac. It had been fun to wander through the old town with her, hearing her laugh, watching her eyes light up.
He didn’t know how he was going to get through the next five weeks being so goddamn brotherly.
He turned. Most of the deck chairs were empty. Because they wouldn’t sail until seven that evening, many of the passengers would stay ashore until deadline. Those who preferred relaxing on board were two decks below, indulging in the delicate pastries being served at tea.
But Roxanne was here, stretched out on a deck chair, mirrored sunglasses shading her eyes, a book in her hands, and an unbearably tiny bikini covering no more than was required by law.
Luke swore viciously under his breath before crossing to her.
She knew he was there, had known from the moment he reached the top of the stairs and turned
toward the rail. She’d been staring at the same page in her novel for five full minutes, and was grateful for the time to whip her heart rate under control.
Leisurely she turned the page then reached out for the lukewarm soft drink on the table beside her.
“You like to live dangerously.”
She glanced up, arched a brow, then tipped her glasses down just far enough to look over the tops. “Do I?”
“A redhead sitting in the sun’s just asking to burn.” In truth her skin had neither burned nor tanned. It had simply bloomed, gorgeously, like a ripening peach.
“I don’t stay out long.” She smiled and pushed her glasses back into place. A healthy ripple of lust swam through her. “And I’m just slathered all over with lotion.” Very slowly, she skimmed a fingertip up a glistening thigh. “Did you give Lily the lace fan you bought her?”
“Yeah.” To make certain they behaved, Luke tucked his itchy hands in his pockets. “You were right. She was crazy about it.”
“See? You only have to trust me.”
She shifted, only a little, but he was aware of every muscle, every detail. The tiny hoops in her ears, the glint of the delicate gold chain with its slim amethyst crystal around her neck, the way her hair curled riotously where she tied it on top of her head, the erotic scent of the lotion she’d slicked over her skin.
Murder was too good for her.
“Jack wanted to know if you could do the reception line tonight. One of the girls is fighting off a virus.”
“Oh, I think I could manage that.” She slid her foot up the chair and lazily scratched her knee. “Want a sip?” She offered the watered-down Coke. “You look hot.”
“I’m fine.” Or he would be once he managed to move the feet that seemed nailed to the deck by her chair. “Shouldn’t you go in and get ready?”
“I’ve got plenty of time. Do me a favor?” She stretched once, catlike, before she picked up the bottle of lotion and tossed it to him. “Do my back, okay?”
“Your back?”
“Um-hmm.” Shifting again, she lowered the back of the chair, rolled over and snuggled down. “I can’t reach it.”
He was surprised the lotion didn’t geyser out the top as he squeezed the bottle so tightly. “Your back looks fine.”
“Be a pal.” After pillowing her head on her hands, she sighed like a woman relaxed. But behind the mirrored lenses her eyes were open and watchful. “It wouldn’t do for me to ask one of the deckhands.”
That did it. Setting his teeth, he crouched down and squeezed lotion on her shoulder blades. She sighed again, her lips curving.
“Feels good,” she murmured. “Warm.”
“Having the bottle in the sun could account for it.” He began to spread the lotion with his fingertips, objectively, he thought. After all, it was only a back. Skin and bone. Soft, satiny skin. Long, delicate bones. She moved sinuously under his hands, and he bit back a moan.
Her toes were curling. His hands were magic on her slippery skin, conjuring up images, lighting fires, fogging the brain. Still, Luke wasn’t the only one who knew about image and control. Her voice might have been husky when she spoke, but Roxanne thought that could be attributed to a state of relaxation as easily as arousal.
“You have to unhook the top.”
The hands circling her back paused. Her glasses tossed back the reflection of his stunned face. “Excuse me?”
“The top,” she repeated. “Unhook it or I’ll get a line.”
“Right.” No big deal, he told himself, but his fingers reached and pulled back from the simple hook twice before he was satisfied with his willpower.
Now Roxanne did close her eyes, the better to absorb each rippling sensation. “Mmmm. You could get a job belowdecks with Inga.”
“Inga?” Odd, he didn’t think he’d ever noticed how subtly her back tapered down to her waist.
“The masseuse. I had a thirty-minute session last night, but she’s got nothing on you, Callahan. Daddy’s always admired your hands, you know?” Her chuckle was shaky as he trailed his fingers down to the small of her back. If she didn’t laugh, she’d groan. “For entirely different reasons, of course. As for me, I . . .” She trailed off on a throaty sigh when he smoothed his palms down her rib cage.
Good God, her bones were melting under his hands. It was an impossibly erotic sensation to have her grow warmer, more fluid with each stroke. The nape of her neck tempted him desperately. His mouth watered at the thought of pressing his lips just there, tasting that lotion-slicked skin and feeling her tremble. It took little imagination to conjure a fantasy of her rolling over, that ridiculous band of emerald falling away as she let him explore those sleek curves. She’d groan for him, reach for him, open for him.
And then, at last then . . .
It was the sound of his own unsteady breathing that pulled him back. His hands were poised on the sides of her breasts, his fingers on the point of sliding beneath to claim that silky fullness.
She was trembling, as obviously and completely aroused as he.
They were on an open deck, he thought in disgust. In full sunlight. Worse, much worse, they were as closely related as two people could be without sharing blood.
He snatched his hands back, capped the bottle after two fumbling attempts. “That’ll do it.”
Her system shuddered with the broken promise of fulfillment. Roxanne lifted her head, bringing one hand up automatically to hold the loosened top in place, using the other to lower her glasses again. This time the eyes behind them were dark and heavy. “Will it?”
Furious with the ease with which she could undermine his willpower, he clamped tense fingers on her jaw. “I’ve just seen to it you won’t get burned, Rox. Do us both a favor, and keep your distance from the heat.”
She forced her lips into a smile. “Which one of us are you afraid for, Callahan?”
Because he didn’t know the answer, he pulled back and stood. “Don’t push your luck, Roxy.”
But she intended to push it, she thought when he strode across the deck and down the iron stairs. She intended to push until it broke, one way or the other.
“Who you mad at, loup?”
“No one.” Luke stood with LeClerc outside the casino, watching the dancers sway on the postage-stamp dance floor in the Monte Carlo Lounge. The quartet of Polish musicians was playing “Night and Day” with a touch of bebop.
“So why you scowl?” LeClerc yanked at the detested tie he was obliged to wear on this last formal night of the first cruise. “That look in your eye makes the menfolk back away, and the women sigh and shiver.”
Despite his mood, Luke’s lips twitched. “Maybe that’s how I like it. Where’s that silver-haired French fox you’ve been sniffing around?”
“Marie-Clair. She’ll be along.” LeClerc chewed on his pipe while Luke lit a cigar. “A handsome woman, that. Meat on the bone and fire in the belly.” He grinned, making the pipe stem rattle against his teeth. “A rich widow is a gift from God to a man. She has jewelry. Ah.” He kissed his fingers and sighed. “Last night, I held her opal pendant in my hand. Ten carats, mon ami, perhaps twelve, circled by a dozen ten-point diamonds. But you and the rest, you make me feel guilty for even thinking about taking it from her. So tomorrow, I will bid her adieu, and she will go home to Montreal with her opal and her diamonds, with a ruby ring of exquisite proportion, and numerous other treasures that break the heart. Only her virtue will I have stolen.”
Amused, Luke laid a hand on LeClerc’s shoulder. “Sometimes, mon ami, that is enough.” He glanced toward the forward entrance of the lounge.
Roxanne stood with her hand being kissed by the ship’s first officer. The fact that the man was tall and bronzed and Greek was bad enough. Insult was added to injury by the sound of Roxanne’s low laughter.
Her dress was a short, shimmery swath of aquamarine. Without benefit of straps, it left Roxanne’s arms and shoulders bare. It dispensed with a back altogether. What little material there was d
raped low at the hips and stopped teasingly at mid-thigh.
The skin she’d warmed in the sun that afternoon glowed pale gold against the dreamy blue. She caught up her hair in a jeweled pin so that its mass tempted a man to free it and watch it spill fire.
“She’s not going to get away with it.”